They were born not as two, but one. Cut from the belly of a woman who was hardly human. Her womb, an experimental lab a petri dish, an incubator of life not fit for earthly habitation. But life, still.
Strange!
No, not strange:
They were born not as two, but one. Cut from the belly of a woman who was hardly human. Her womb, an experimental lab a petri dish, an incubator of life not fit for earthly habitation. But life, still.
Strange!
No, not strange:
Like Bread & Pickle (LOVE their lattes) but it serves turkey chowder in an air-sickness bag.
Life is full of gratitude and regret. Both should be acknowledged. Hopefully via a Zeichen Press card. I am sure that if we all thoroughly examined our consciences, we would discover a whole room of regret. That room would be furnished with a urine-stained futon, a musty trunk, and an ash tray. That’s sad!
CONVERSELY, the gratitude room is full of Daylilies and cookie jars.
Here are some cards for both occasions: And don’t act like you don’t need both cards.
We still love you.

There was a pet store in my neighborhood (Petcetera) that had all kinds of fascinating creatures. The best creature was a full-size (5 feet, from snout to tip of tail) alligator in a steel tub. The tub had a makeshift screen cover so that the alligator couldn’t escape.
A screen cover.
So the ALLIGATOR couldn’t escape.
I think it was drugged anyway it just laid there, blinking it’s beautiful eyes.
Of course there were snakes, and I don’t know much about snakes, but what I do know is pretty scientifically accurate. When snakes speak, they drag out their s’s.
They’re usually pretty shy but if you give one a frozen mouse they are your friend for at least 5 seconds.
It was a fat PVC pipe, coated in Crisco, pitched at a 25° angle and suspended over a pit filled with filthy water. A $5 bill was clipped to the high end and my job was to shimmy my way to it. (Why am I always shimmying poles?) With my glasses pushed tight to my face, my stringy blonde hair moved back and forth as I slid myself toward my goal. I wore my lucky shorts Granny Smith green with pink piping and “my 4th of July” shirt red and blue striped off-brand Izod.
A crowd gathered.
I wanted that $5 and the glory that came with it. With that $5, I could buy enough candy to satisfy my aching sweet tooth and with that glory came a lifetime of bragging rights. “The greased pole in the Hollow in Barnstable? Yeah, I did that.”
I entered a competition today. This one does not involve poles, pits, or Crisco. It does involve money and Jen and I have both agreed that we will do (almost) anything for money.

Uncommon Goods invited us to submit designs for an iPhone case and after slathering myself in Crisco, I submitted some designs. I know you’ve seen these before. I’m really into recycling.

I know that Native Americans can anticipate the change of seasons by paying close attention to the subtle signs in nature. I’ve been doing that too.
Sign number one was seeing a rat splattered on the street in front of my house. When the rats crawl out of the sewers it means we are in for a serious drought. Or that I need to move.
Sign number two was seeing a man peeing on the side of my garage. When a man pees on the side of your garage it means that I need to move.
Okay, the school year is fizzling out like a dud of a firecracker and that’s good because I’ve seen those mangled hands and it is difficult to fill in those little SAT bubbles with a nub-hand.
Once Upon A Time, I made the difficult transition from Catholic Grade School to Catholic High School this meant going from blue and green plaid skirts to brown and gray plaid skirts. THIS meant that I had to inch my way up the school’s flagpole and fly my skirt like a flag.

Just like Hayley Mills (in The Trouble With Angels!) sans cigarette.
It’s not too late to send your favorite graduate from the Class of 2012 a Zeichen Press card stuffed with money!
(You’re welcome, graduates.)
One fully loaded California Job Case weighs as much as I do and I have spent the week proving this.
We are in the process of rearranging the shop and I am in the process of atoning for my sins via physical labor my hair shirt is at the cleaners and flip-flops don’t hold small rocks like Uggs.
Here’s how it works: I carefully slide one 100 lb case out of the cabinet and onto the floor.
And then I do that, like, 60 more times.
If I realize there is a case of type I need on the bottom of the pile, I simply pick up each and every case on top of that case and create another pile on the floor.
At some point, intern(s) get involved.
Their apprenticeship is very old-school: They sort type/hate me. That’s how they used to do it in the good ol’ days, I’m just trying to keep tradition alive.
They’ll thank me later.
My mind wandered as I listened to the Second Reading. I wondered if I could get my hands on a chocolate milk for lunch. I watched the third graders fidget. I planned my fishing-themed diorama. …Children, let us love not in word or speech but in deed and truth… I figured out what the initials TGIF stood for oh, that makes sense! …I felt something crawl up my uniform blouse.
I felt something crawl up my uniform blouse! Or did I? The question went unanswered because, like Abraham Lincoln in the balcony of Ford’s Theater, I’d been shot. Most likely, an assassination plot carried out by those boys that dumped Mountain Dew on my head last week. Oh, the pain! I signaled my teacher and was escorted to the nurses office by a girl that needed a hero badge to add to her girl scout sash.
The nurses office was familiar to me. Homesickness was an ailment I suffered from semi-regularly.
When I staggered through the door, the nurse stopped her mimeographing and looked at me. I pointed to my gunshot wound nearish my right armpit but closer to a more embarrassing region. She lifted up my blouse. I stared at the poster on the wall.

Yes, kitten. I will hang in there.
It turned out not to be a bullet lodged in my ribcage, but a bee sting.
In honor of that important event, I created my own Hang in There! card. Do not accuse me of ripping off the original, it is an homage. An HOMAGE.
I think that means Seize Mother’s Day. But maybe not – I am really only fluent in Pig-Latin.
As far as I know, we all have mothers. I don’t think Science has done away with that yet. And I’m going to boldly state that the majority of readers of the Is That Funny blog love their mothers. Why? My research shows that people who $*#%-ing love Zeichen Press also $*#%-ing love their mothers. My research involved a picture-day slideshow and ham salad sandwiches. Also, $50 bills stuffed in a pińata. It was unorthodox but revealing.
You still have time to order a Mother’s Day card (and a card for your Mother-In-Law, dear God, DO NOT FORGET HER) from the shop! We will ship it to you so you have time to send (or give) it to mom.
But, don’t let me tell you what to do. I mean, if you don’t want to celebrate your mom (OR mother-in-law!) on this one day of the year, that’s your decision. I’m sure she won’t be hurt at all. It will never be brought up again.



Once Upon A Time, there lived a woman who tried and tried to cram a live chicken into a cooking pot. The chicken would not oblige and finally the woman had to accept the notion that live chickens will never submit to such unnatural behavior. Rather than chop off the chicken’s head, they became companions and live in an abandoned mine shaft. The End
I have dozens of stories like that, just waiting to be published. That reminds me: I was trying really, really hard to write a Father’s Day card. This is what I came up with:
At brunch, George Lucas asked me to write a Father’s Day card that suggests a theme from the Star Wars Trilogy but warned me not to use any of the Star Wars imagery. It was a strange request but I accepted the challenge and after tossing back our mimosas, we arm-wrestled and I made this:
A strange custom:
One child crawls through a tunnel made of other children the crawling child is spanked on the bottom by each participant. The spankers laugh hysterically.
The concept of automated and industrial scale corporal punishment originated in 19th century Russia.
It’s true!
I’ll spare you the details. Let’s just say that the concept has evolved from judicial whipping of peasants to tunnels of birthday abuse for today’s schoolchildren.
A good friend of mine turned XX (not Roman numerals) and she has such fond memories of the Spanking Machine!
I made her a card:

I’m over here! No… HERE! The one waving her arms and jumping up and down! …The one wearing the poncho and helmet!
She must not see me.

She did mention Zeichen Press on her blog. And she did buy cards from our online shop. I thought that meant she wanted to hang out and talk about black bean chili with butternut squash and swiss chard?
You can totally call me, Alexis!
Step right up, step right up!
It’s here, a cure for all that ails! Do you suffer from one (or more) of the following complications?:
Bumpy skin?
Webbed toes?
Nagging wife?
No? How about?:
Limp tongue?
Rotting scalp?
Too many fingers?
Fear not! Just one purchase of a Zeichen Press letterpress greeting card will set you on the proper path to wellness!
(The following photographs are guaranteed to cure any inflammation:)

I tell my kids that I don’t want anything for my birthday. I tell them that I have everything I need.
But I’m lying.
The truth is, I need the following items:


Wait, I needed them in 1984. Never mind. But they would come in handy now. Especially that “waterproof” walkman. (It’s not, I repeat: NOT waterproof). Also, (for the record) that Ouija Board (why was Parker Bros. into the occult?) didn’t even work. It was merely the hors d’oeuvre for the Slumber Party Game: Light As a Feather/Stiff As a Board. Um, if I caught my daughter and her friends playing that game, I’d be like, I GET TO TELL THE STORY AND CUT THE PRETEND HOLE IN THE FOREHEAD AND FILL IT WITH SAND.
Oh, I wouldn’t… I’d be more like, YOU GIRLS GET TO BED, ENOUGH OF YOUR WITCHCRAFT.
ALSO, that PacMan tray should only be used for craft projects. Never for food in bed. NEVER FOR FOOD IN BED.
Hmm, I guess I really don’t need anything.
PS: Thanks mom, for life!
PPS: Don’t worry, this is not a Holy Day of Obligation.
No.
Normally, mobs carry pitchforks and torches but Cash Mobs are different.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b5zUAnIaD4I
How?
Cash Mobs are a happy sort and their motivation has nothing to do with drawing or quartering. Cash Mobs support local businesses by encouraging shoppers to spend $20 at an independent boutique on a designated day.
Isn’t this a beautiful and simple concept? I promise it won’t turn into a Black Friday Walmart thing. Leave your pepper spray at home.
i like you is next on the list. (Saturday, April 14.) Have you ever been?! You will be reduced to a giggling mess.
Just step over the girls.
